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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423668">cut through the clouds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowblow/pseuds/lowblow'>lowblow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempt at Humor, Attempt at cooking, Feelings™, Fluff, Food, Knives, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, background tyunning, harbringer of misfortune huening kai, setting things on fire as a bonding activity, txt family dynamics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:55:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowblow/pseuds/lowblow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh god," He whispers, as loud as dread will allow. </p><p>"There's no god here." Yeonjun says, holding out his apron strings for Soobin to tie. "Only me."</p><p>[tl;dr txt dorm shenanigans ft. a bad youth drama subplot, starring one Choi Soobin as The Great Repression]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi Soobin/Choi Yeonjun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1029</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cut through the clouds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>not that this has a plot but for plot's sake picture it in April 2020</p><p>warning for blood on account of stupidity!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hey stranger.”</p><p>Soobin jumps when cool fingers brush his nape, taking a second to process that the Virtuoso he'd dropped most of his very first paycheck on is being slipped off his ears. The monitor dims with a message of defeat —  some asshole from Sydney, Australia having taken advantage of the distraction to kill his in-game avatar. He can't find it in himself to care too much, though, as Yeonjun's arms wind around his neck from behind in a loose grip.</p><p>"Hyung, you made me lose." He complains for posterity, trying to ignore the pesky quickening of his pulse.</p><p>"You've been here all day." Yeonjun complains, chin resting atop Soobin's head. He smells like a shower and everything Soobin should know better than to want. "And you're so loud. Heard you yelling all the way across the dorm." </p><p>This means nothing since it’s hardly a <em> big </em> dorm, but guilt pricks at Soobin nevertheless. "Sorry, did I wake you?" </p><p>"Nope, was out shopping." Yeonjun runs his fingers up and back from Soobin's forehead, combing the locks. "How's the head? Does it still hurt?" </p><p>The sting from his freshly dyed roots hasn’t fully subsided yet, but it's not enough to be a bother and <em> definitely </em> not enough for Soobin to say anything now, lest it make Yeonjun stop playing with his hair. He's saved from answering when Beomgyu snaps his laptop shut, clearing his throat — an aggrieved little sound.</p><p>"What brings you here, hyung?” His pinky extends past the airpod he’d taken out like an etiquette professor with a teacup. The question is for Yeonjun, but Soobin doesn’t miss the pointed glance thrown his way when he adds, “to <em> our </em> room.”</p><p>"Oh, yeah." Yeonjun straightens from where he'd been leaning over Soobin's computer chair. “I’m making dinner tonight!” He announces, with a flourish.</p><p>Soobin manages to stifle a groan just in time, but Beomgyu, a far braver man than he is, makes no such effort. “Hyung <em> nooo</em>, no more pasta."</p><p>Yeonjun's eyes narrow. "I make <em> great </em> pasta."</p><p>"I have a wisdom tooth coming in. Can't risk any more armoured <em> al dente.</em>"</p><p>“You'll never get to again if you don’t stop insulting my cooking."</p><p>“Promise?” Beomgyu asks hopefully, ducking and rolling for cover in record time when Yeonjun attacks with the nearest object in his firing range (boxers, unwashed). "Promise!"</p><p>“<em>Fuck y— </em> wait, <em> why </em> is this place a dumpster already. I helped you guys clean like, what, last week? <em> Soobin." </em></p><p>“This <em> is </em> clean!” Soobin protests, trying to discreetly brush crumbs off his backlit keyboard. Well, it’s... sort of clean. He surveys the room with new eyes, sheepish. Ramyun containers balance precariously on boxes they'd never bothered to unpack, and a sad, empty can of Mountain Dew chooses that moment to roll out from under his bed as if to prove a point. </p><p>"It's liveable!" He amends. In his defense, Beomgyu's equally to blame. It seemed pretty unfair that Soobin be singled out like he’d just insulted the pacing and plot of Yeonjun’s latest B-rate romcom fixation. <em>The Kissing Booth, </em>was it? He's about to voice this injustice when Yeonjun leans against the doorframe in a certain way (arms crossed, one long leg over the other), swiftly and effectively cutting off his train of thought. Beomgyu makes that noise again.</p><p>“Whatever, we’ll do it again this weekend,” Yeonjun sniffs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “And it’s not pasta, dick. I bought meat. Full price.” </p><p>The door slams shut, Beomgyu’s Daegu FC laminate rattling ominously in his wake. Yeonjun did everything like that — loud and deliberate, drawing attention. The polar opposite of Soobin, who’d spent the <em> Early Life </em> section of his Wikipedia page trying to make himself seem smaller, softer, avoiding every incident spotlight like the plague. Funny how things worked out.</p><p>Beomgyu’s face reflects his own incredulous uncertainty. Meat? That meant hot oil, spices and possibly a complicated stove sequence to boot. Ambitious, even for Yeonjun. <em> Alarming</em>.</p><p>“Hyung,” He whispers urgently. “Let’s run. I’ve got my card. It’s too late for the others but if we leave now, we can—”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Soobin hangs his head in resignation. “We’d barely make it to the front gate.”</p><p>“<em>You </em> wouldn’t.” Beomgyu studies him, disdainful. “But that’s only because of your defeatist attitude and how you’re always skipping leg day. And 'cause you’re stupid soft for—”</p><p>They both freeze when Yeonjun suddenly sticks his head back around the door, his nose primed for the scent of treachery. “I came up with a better idea!" He smiles, and it could almost, <em> almost </em> pass for sweet. "<em>We're </em> making dinner tonight. Together. One dream and all that." </p><p>He gives them a thumbs up. "Collect the kids and be at the kitchen in two."</p><p><em> We're fucked</em>, Beomgyu mouths, flashing a peace sign in return. Sydney, Australia taunts him in the chat box, but Soobin just puts his computer to sleep with a sigh. Protest was futile, he knows that better than anyone.<br/><br/></p><p> </p><p>They convene in the cramped kitchen exactly six minutes later in varying stages of disgruntlement. </p><p>The maknaes are already there, cross-legged on the floor putting finishing touches on what looked like a crude model of the olympic stadium made out of boba straws, ice cream sticks and old takeout containers — none of which looked washed. Soobin allows himself a second of disgust but no more, because after all he’d played a significant role in contributing to the raw material, mostly on Kai's coin. Plus, all things considered, they’d done a pretty good job.  </p><p>“This is me,” Kai says cheerfully, sticking a bingsu spoon into the makeshift styrofoam stage, “and this is you, Taehyun-ah.”</p><p>“Why am I the smaller one?” Taehyun says, but the corners of his lips twitch as he nudges one of the spoons so they’re leaning on each other, yellow against pink. Soobin politely averts his gaze.</p><p>“Alright, pack it up,” Yeonjun says, scratching the back of Taehyun’s ear. He has an apron slung over his forearm that reads — Soobin squints —  <em> 'My eyes are up here!' </em> in English. With a little arrow. Of course he does. </p><p>“Why are we doing this again?” asks Beomgyu, spinning around on their last remaining wicker barstool. They’d lost the first to a particularly vicious game of floor cushion, and Kai had accidently put his foot through another the time Beomgyu bet him two cheon-won he couldn’t recreate one of Taehyun’s taekwondo home videos. No one in their right mind would trust them around fire. But this was Yeonjun. </p><p>“Yeah, this better be good, hyung. I was gonna clean Aengdu’s tank later,” says Taehyun, getting down on his stomach to snap a close-up of their handiwork. </p><p>“Team building exercise?” Yeonjun offers. “A bonding activity, if you will.”</p><p>“Oh, that makes sense,” Kai nods sagely, “It’s not like we spend every minute of every day together.”</p><p>“Are you giving me lip, brat?”</p><p>“Of <em> course </em> not, Yeonjunnie-hyung,” Kai gushes immediately, latching onto Yeonjun’s waist, “I would <em> never</em>.”</p><p>“S’what I thought.”</p><p>Soobin tunes them out. All of a sudden, the situation seemed more dire than he’d thought. Among the array of vegetables and meat Yeonjun had procured on his grocery run (in lieu of their usual soda and snacks, he won’t forget. He’ll <em>never </em>forget), the glow from the kitchen's watery tubelight catches on steel. </p><p>Yeonjun liked to joke that Soobin was his impulse control as much as Soobin liked to pretend not to hear him. A mistake, in hindsight.</p><p>"Yeonjun-hyung," Soobin is almost too afraid to ask, "Where did you get those?"</p><p>"Oh, <em> these</em>?" Yeonjun gleefully picks up one of the knives, like he'd just been waiting for someone to notice. And because he's Yeonjun, he accompanies it with a showy little twirl between his index and middle finger that makes Soobin's heart leap to his throat (whether out of fear or arousal is still up for debate). "The home appliances store below that noraebang we went to last month. Neat, aren't they?"</p><p>"This is a <em> meat cleaver</em>." Taehyun says doubtfully, picking up what could pass for an axe in his small fist.</p><p>"For the meat," says Yeonjun.</p><p>"What does <em> this </em> do?" says Beomgyu, running a finger along the serrated edge of one the longer blades before Soobin can stop him, and, predictably— "<em>Ouch! </em>Ha, sharp."</p><p>"Oh god," He whispers, as loud as dread will allow. </p><p>"There's no god here." Yeonjun says, holding out his apron strings for Soobin to tie. "Only me."</p><p>Soobin believes him. Once Yeonjun had his mind set on something, even Bang himself would find changing it a Goliathan task. That’s why the stylists had so much animal print lined up for this comeback. It was a choice, yes, just not entirely <em> their </em> choice. </p><p>But cooking? The five of<em> them</em>? He had to intervene. He couldn't just stand by and let them hurt themselves, set something on fire, or <em> worse</em>, go hungry tonight. It's his <em> sworn duty</em>. To the company. To the team. </p><p>Soobin clears his throat. “Hyung, no offence, but as leader, I think I’m within my rights to, uh, <em> not </em> do this and maybe order chicken instead—?”</p><p>Yeonjun levels him with a look so withering that Soobin shrinks in place, ashamed for thinking he even stood a chance. “<em>As</em> <em>leader</em>,” Taehyun mimics as soon as Yeonjun’s back is turned, dropping his voice low in a creepily accurate impression of Soobin. “Have some respect,” Beomgyu scolds, but Soobin knows better than to believe it’s in defense of his honour, “It’s not his fault he’s a wimp.” There it is. </p><p>He sighs, crossing and looping the strings at Yeonjun’s waist into a simple bow. It’s concerning, how his defenses seemed to be growing weaker with time and proximity to people who didn’t respect them at all. “It would be nice," Soobin says mildly, "if the team hierarchy was respected around here.”</p><p>Yeonjun just throws a smirk over his shoulder, sharp as knives. “Cute, but you forget. It’s after work hours which<em> means </em> before a team, we’re family.” The other three make noises of embarrassment and disgust but Soobin just ducks his head, ears warming against his will. <em> That's cheating</em>. He could always trust himself to cave for the corniest shit, a fact Yeonjun exploited to no end.</p><p>“A dictatorship, is what this is.” Beomgyu grumbles, but his eyes glint as he snatches up the tablet Yeonjun had left open on a recipe. Taehyun shrugs at Soobin over his phone, already scrolling through potential work playlists. </p><p>“I think it'll be fun!” chirps Kai, with baseless optimism. And then, because he wouldn’t be him unless he hoisted some kind of narrative death flag over their evening, "What could go wrong?"</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>They burn their first batch of meat.</p><p>Yeonjun claims it's still edible, somewhere deep, deep below the tough, blackened exoskeleton. Soobin's not so sure.</p><p>"How did this happen," Taehyun muses aloud, poking the offensive protein, which was allegedly pork but doing a great job of mimicking the taste and texture of a rubber tire. "Hyuka, weren't you supposed to watch it?"</p><p>Kai scratches the back of his neck, sheepish, "Yeah but, like, my mom called so I asked hyung to keep an eye on the griddle. Remember? I said '<em>Hyung, keep an eye on the griddle</em>.'" </p><p>"Damn, Beomgyu, why didn't you keep an eye on the griddle?"</p><p>"Me?" Beomgyu's eyebrows shoot up as he points at Soobin. "I thought he meant <em> him." </em></p><p>Soobin rakes a hand through already disheveled hair, wincing when it tugs on the roots. "Well,<em> I </em> thought he meant Yeonjun-hyung."</p><p>"Hyuka, <em> who </em> is this ambiguous, nameless hyu— you know what? It doesn't matter." Taehyun closes his eyes. "You all suck."</p><p>"It's not too late to order chicken," Soobin throws out, without much hope.</p><p>"Stop trying to make chicken happen." Yeonjun says, lightly bonking him with a wooden spoon. "It's not going to happen."</p><p>"Hyung you <em> know </em>no one understands your old movie references.” Taehyun says, probably just to rile him up. It works.</p><p>"No, but this is good!" Kai insists, like he didn’t deserve the most blame, "it's better to make mistakes early on. Good we got that out of the way, huh?"</p><p>
  <br/>
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  <br/>
</p><p>“<em>Stop—pushing </em> my— hyung, <em> move </em>.”</p><p>“I <em> literally </em>can’t, Huening’s practically in my lap.”</p><p>“Beomgyu, back the fuck up. I’m handling sharp objects.”</p><p>“Sharp objects? Oh, I know a thing or two about sharp objects since Taehyun’s elbow <em> punctured— </em>”</p><p>“This isn’t going to work.” Soobin declares, after an age. Their kitchen counter was not built to accommodate five people, let alone five bony, sweaty, growing boys with an average height of 182 centimeters and more limbs than seemed strictly necessary. </p><p>It’ll be fine, Yeonjun'd said. It’ll be the <em> ultimate conveyor belt of efficiency, </em>Yeonjun’d said. The ultimate conveyor belt of efficiency crumbles before their eyes when Taehyun’s deadly elbow knocks over a bowl of minced cabbage, covering the kitchen floor in a carpet of green. And yet, it still isn’t as upsetting as the realization that that was the only thing they’d manage to accomplish so far.</p><p>Beomgyu looks like he wants to cry, which Soobin understands completely. Kai picks up the upturned steel bowl, dusting it off, “Don’t worry, everyone,” he says, “At the very least, we know things can’t get worse than this.”</p><p>“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Soobin sighs. </p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Beomgyu was crying. Which made no sense, because it's not like <em> he </em> was the one chopping onions here.</p><p>“<em>Hyung!</em>” He wails, clutching at Soobin’s pant-leg. Soobin staunchly ignores him, dabbing away his own tears with the sleeve that feels the least damp. They'd been spread out and assigned individual roles, a second batch of meat was on the go (to be industriously watched by multiple people this time), and the playlist radio was no longer recommending indie skips. He'd finally settled into something resembling a rhythm, and he wasn't going to break it for <em>anything.</em></p><p><em> You're the only one I trust with these babies, Soobin-ah, </em> Yeonjun had said, brandishing the business-end of a knife at him in a way that would've reduced any of their managers to hysterics. <em> Because you have such big, steady hands, you know. </em></p><p>“Bomi-nim’s son ran away with someone in his military unit and now she doesn’t have anyone to feed songpyeon to on chuseok. It’s <em> so </em>sad!”</p><p>“What the fuck.” Soobin's rhythm? Broken. But Beomgyu didn’t make a whole lot of sense at the best of times, and right now Soobin was concentrating very hard on not accidentally slicing off one or more of his fingers. They were some of his best appendages.</p><p>“He’s reading the posts on that blog? <em> Bomi’s Bowl</em>.” Kai explains, peeling carrots next to Soobin. He wasn't going to win any awards for it, but at least he’s contributing — the same of which couldn't be said for Beomgyu, who'd spent the past hour spooning the tablet under the guise of finding recipes, or Taehyun, who was very skilled at <em> pretending </em> to look busy while secretly scrolling through Twitter. Clearly, there was something wrong with the division of labour here. “The food-lit crowd often include anecdotes from their lives and stuff. ‘Cause it adds— ,” Kai fires a finger gun, “flavour.”</p><p>“She’s <em> so </em> brave!” Beomgyu is all-out sobbing now. “Even after her late-husband’s family blamed her for the son’s engagement falling through, she welcomed them into her home. With. Open. Arms.” Each word is punctuated by him pounding his fist on the floor. Soobin fervently hopes their neighbours are forgiving people. “Bomi-nim, that takes, like, courage. I respect you!”</p><p>“Okay, but what about the recipe?” Soobin frowns, rearranging his grip on the knife. Seven times vertical, nine horizontal. “<em>Surely </em> she thought to include it somewhere?”</p><p>"Hyung, stop fucking around with blogs and put Maangchi on. You read <em> way </em>too slow.” Taehyun says, measuring raw rice into the ancient cooker that'd come with the apartment. "The plot's pretty engaging, though, I’ll give her that. How much water do we need for five people?”</p><p>“Excellent, Bomi can be a novelist. I really wanna eat<em> tonight.” </em></p><p>"About one knuckle deep." Kai supplies cheerfully, both of them ignoring Soobin.</p><p>Taehyun nods, and then pauses. "Wait, our fingers are different lengths. Kai-yah, come here."</p><p>"What difference does it make—" Soobin begins, but too late, because the maknaes already had their palms pressed together, comparing hand sizes. Like it could’ve changed since the last time<em>. </em> He tries not to roll his eyes.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Soobin stiffens when Yeonjun materializes at his side, a hand at the small of his back. As perpetually noisy as he was, it's unsettling how quiet he could be when he wanted to — like a cat. Bad for Soobin's heart. “We don't really need a recipe. Everyone knows the basic principle is to just throw shit together and then mix it all up.”</p><p>Soobin has his doubts (who’s everyone?), and he’s pretty sure their chef ancestors — on the off-chance that they had any —  are turning in their ginger root graves somewhere for this blatant slander of the good name of bibimbap, but it’s easy to forget them all as he watches Yeonjun lick his fingers, the ends stained orange from the jjigae he’d been making on the stove.</p><p>He was doing it alone because Yeonjun was the only one of them who possessed anything that came close to resembling<em> life-skills</em>. And of course, because he had a rather unique approach to cooking that no one else wanted to get involved in — one that entailed cussing and whispering threats at the ingredients until they behaved.</p><p>"Don't be <em> bitches</em>," he'd say, turning his nose up at chives going into the pot. Everything had to be <em> good, </em> or it’d be left over, the picky eaters most of the team were, and Yeonjun hated wasting food. Average just wouldn’t cut it. "Stay nice and crisp, or else." </p><p>He leans over Soobin's shoulder now, throwing an arm around his waist as he critically eyes his workmanship. Soobin keeps his gaze trained on the cutting board, willing his pulse to slow and his wrist to steady, at least until he gets the Yeonjun seal of approval. <em>Why </em> did he have to stand so close? Soobin is only human, and one with just barely passable coordination at that.</p><p>"Are you doing seven straight, nine across?"</p><p>"Yes<em>." </em></p><p>"I'm asking 'cause they look too thick, and if they're too thick they'll—"</p><p>"–get soggy. I <em> know</em>, hyung. You're such a nag."</p><p>Yeonjun chomps the air centimeters away from Soobin's cheek. "You love it."</p><p>"What about me?" Kai asks, holding out his bowl of carrots for inspection. Soobin doesn't catch it himself but whatever Yeonjun sees in the maknae's face makes him laugh and fondly ruffle his hair. "Much better than last time, Huening. Actually, you can take a break. Beomgyu, swap in." </p><p>"Hyung~" Beomgyu’s tears evaporate instantly as he rearranges his features into a pout, aiming to beg off work, but even he's blindsided by the sloppy, wet kiss Yeonjun plants on the side of his head. They both look up at the sound of a phone camera shutter going off.</p><p>"Kang Taehyun, post that and <em> die</em>." </p><p>"Relax, Beomgyu-hyung, it's for the cloud. Memories, or whatever. Twitter doesn’t wanna see your bareface anyway."</p><p>"In that case, let me do it again." Yeonjun says, grin growing wide as Beomgyu swipes at Taehyun, scowling. "With Soobinie this time. Get our good angles." </p><p>And so Soobin shuts the hell up and ignores Yeonjun, ignores <em> everything</em>, and focuses instead on channelling his twenty years of worldly knowledge into chopping these damn onions into precise, even pieces. A Heize song comes up on shuffle, because it stands to reason that stressed internal reflection required it’s own mood music.</p><p>Soobin’s job — and it <em> is </em> a job, when all’s said and done —  is to be a rock, a dry patch of earth for four other people to stand on, come hell or high tide. His personal shit, though? That was his and his alone, and he’d spent the short measure of his adult life thus far dealing with things by blithely pretending they didn’t exist. That’s not about to change any time soon, he knows that.</p><p>It’s just. It’s decidedly hard to pretend Yeonjun doesn’t exist.</p><p>He's there, <em>all </em> the time — when Soobin wakes up in the morning, on the way to work, the practice room, the recording studio, the mess. The background noise of Soobin’s life, for as long as he can remember. Or at least for as long as he can remember caring about boys, <em> like this</em>. Always there, always unfairly beautiful, unfairly distracting. It was all so unfair. </p><p>(He ought to be grateful that he’s getting a brief reprieve these days. Yeonjun’d been staying later than usual at the agency recently, working on a personal project he <em> insisted </em> on keeping secret from the rest of them for reasons unknown. Soobin <em> mm hmms </em>and eats ramyun in front of his computer and sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, stubbornly pretending he isn’t curious, because Yeonjun'll share with the class when he’s ready. He doesn’t care. Really.)</p><p>Soobin can't tell anyone, <em> least </em> of all Yeonjun, that he sometimes catches himself doodling their names together in the corners of sheet music and scrap paper and in the condensation of the dorm’s cracked shower wall. Knowing Yeonjun, he'd probably just grin wolfishly and ask <em> why </em> Soobin’d been thinking about him in the shower in the first place. No, he was taking that to the grave.</p><p>"Dance with me, Huening." Yeonjun says in his peripheral vision, tugging at the maknae's wrists. "Ya, Taehyun, put on something with a little tang<em>.</em>" </p><p>"The fuck is <em> tang—"</em> </p><p>They spin together around the cramped space that doubled as both living room and walk-in closet. Yeonjun is laughing his real laugh — not the performative, pretty one he did for the cameras, but the breathy kind with too much nose and throat. Taehyun films them, eyes fond, beans abandoned. “Shouldn’t I lead?” Kai says, one arm on Yeonjun’s shoulder, “Since I’m taller and all.”</p><p>Yeonjun snorts. “You can try.”</p><p>Soobin’s good at that — repressing the hell out of things that keep him up at night until they could almost be someone else’s worries, someone else’s wants. It’s fine. He can just whisper them to himself, quieter and quieter until they fade into incoherence. The way he still gets overwhelmed by lights and crowds, like some kind of rookie. The way it seems like everyone but him is on the fast track to personal improvement, doing so much, getting better. Leaving him behind. </p><p>The way he feels about Yeonjun. </p><p>Quiet, soft.</p><p>
  <em> Seven straight, nine across. </em>
</p><p>Next to him, Beomgyu is finishing up his bean-sprouts. As much as he complained, he was a fast worker with eye for detail. “Hyuuung, check it out. Pretty sexy right?” </p><p>“Phew,” Yeonjun whistles, smoothly twirling Kai into Taehyun before sashaying over. “As expected of BG PD. That’s a clean mince.”</p><p>“That makes no sense,” Beomgyu laughs, but Soobin can tell he’s pleased. BG PD. <em>Producer: Choi Beomgyu. </em> That’s how he was going to be credited on the new album. It’s a huge achievement, at twenty. Age-wise, they had fewer than a hundred days between them, (<em>ninety-eight to be specific</em>, Beomgyu mentioned often), but it’d always seemed like a pretty significant difference. Soobin is so, <em> so </em> proud of him. Really, that's all it is.  </p><p>“Great, now that <em> that’s </em>over,” Beomgyu tears off his apron. It’s bright green plastic, courtesy of being swiped from a Chilsung commercial set. “I’m outta here. Love you hyung, work hard!” </p><p>The worst of it, the punchline to the joke that’s Soobin’s existence is that he <em> knows </em> Yeonjun cares about him. Maybe even… loves him. It’d be hard to miss, even if Yeonjun didn’t explicitly say as much at every chance he got, with the sort of careless ease that leaves Soobin winded, his mouth tacky and dry. The other three had somehow picked up on the habit as well, so his day-to-day involved a seemingly endless barrage of <em> Love you too, hyung </em> and <em> Can you buy me ice-cream on the way back? Thanks, love you. </em></p><p>
  <em> Aw, Soobin-ah, have I ever told you I love you?  </em>
</p><p>You’d think he would’ve gotten used to it by now, but, well. </p><p>Soobin knows Yeonjun cares about him, but he isn’t naive enough to believe it’s on the same wavelength of what he feels. </p><p>(Not anymore.) </p><p> </p><p>The kitchen is quieter, he notices vaguely. The others must've wandered off, either finished with or temporarily relieved of their tasks. Heize is gone, and so is the tang. Soobin doesn't recognize this song. </p><p>Yeonjun, ever unfair Yeonjun, is curled up on their ratty leatherette couch with Kai's head on his shoulder like he’s either blissfully unaware of what he’s doing to Soobin, or knows and just doesn't care. Soobin can't decide which is worse, to be honest.</p><p>They chatter quietly about some new mobile game he’d gotten them all into two days ago. In addition to taking up way too much storage on one’s phone, it’s got hippos, and operates on a currency of fruit that you could sell to expand or personalize your watering hole. It’s also different to the game from last week, but that made sense. Yeonjun got bored of things easily.</p><p>He takes another onion from the basket, sniffling. </p><p>Back when they were trainees, before Yeonjun’s hair had been brown or blue or highlighter-yellow, he’d seemed, what. Distant? That was a word for it. A cool, beautiful thing to admire from afar. The human equivalent of the museum rule — <em> look, but don’t touch</em>. Don’t get too close to the art. Wanting him then had been like staring into a mirror, of sorts. It was shiny, decidedly went only one way, and stood to reveal all of Soobin’s own imperfections in unforgiving detail.</p><p>If the Soobin of that time could be likened to a caterpillar, then Yeonjun had been — not quite a butterfly, not yet, but a slightly smaller, more intimidating caterpillar with no concept of shame or personal space. But he’d had his own clique, been stupid popular even among the trainees, and there’d really been no reason for him to look Soobin’s way. </p><p>He’d done it anyway, at least at first. Soobin remembers the weight of an arm around his shoulder and loud laughter in his ear; sweaty nylon shirts stuck together in Summer; cool fingers pulling at his cheek, calling him cute or handsome. It could’ve been four years ago, it could’ve been yesterday. The difference, of course, was Soobin had just been <em> too… </em> too young, too awkward, unintentionally curving any and all attempts at friendship until Yeonjun had gotten the hint (<em>the wrong hint</em>) and left him alone.</p><p>Then they’d made the debut lineup together, and everything had changed. They'd found new, tentative ground as teammates and only grown closer since. Things were good.</p><p>But still, petty as it probably is, Soobin can’t forget. Can’t <em> quite </em>wipe from his memory how, in that brief snatch of time when Yeonjun had stopped trying and Soobin was slow to get his shit together and come out of his shell, Yeonjun hadn’t seemed to notice his absence at all. Yeonjun’s attention had been short-lived, his affection proven to be surface level and it was like— it was like it didn’t make a difference to him in the least, Soobin or No Soobin. </p><p>And that kind of <em> stung </em> because to Soobin, Yeonjun was… Yeonjun is… </p><p> </p><p>Someone Soobin shouldn’t be thinking about while handling sharp objects, apparently.</p><p>“<em>OW! </em> fuck!”</p><p>“Wh— Soobin?!”</p><p>“Soobin-hyung!”</p><p>Soobin winces, eyes watering against the searing pain. He blinks the tears away, staring from the three-inch long gash on his index finger to the knife Yeonjun’d snatched out of his grasp.</p><p>“S-should I call Jiseok-hyung?” says Kai, eyes growing wide at the red blooming on Soobin’s hand.</p><p>“No! No, it’s fine.” Soobin rushes to promise. It was late, there was really <em> no </em> need to bother their manager for something so insignificant. “It’s not deep, I’ll just wash this off and—” Soobin sticks his hand under the tap, promptly yelping when the hot water they'd been using to rinse the dishes stings his cut. It hurt like a <em> bitch</em>. Yeonjun turns it off, huffing in exasperation.  </p><p>“Huening, go get the first-aid kit, yeah? It’s in the cupboard under the bathroom sink.”</p><p>Yeonjun turns on Soobin, taking his hand to inspect the cut. “What the fuck, Soobinie. I look away for a few seconds…”</p><p>He tries for a grin, but it must be more of a grimace from the way Yeonjun’s expression hardens. “And look how tiny I managed to chop these onions!”</p><p>“You’re <em> bleeding.</em>”</p><p>“Next to some <em> very </em>finely diced onions.”</p><p>Yeonjun glares at him. “Maybe I should just stab you with the knife. Should I just stab you with the knife?”</p><p>“Please don’t stab me, hyung,” Soobin says meekly, letting himself be pulled towards the fridge. Yeonjun is cute when he’s annoyed, like a ruffled stray. Yeonjun is cute all the time, which is exactly the problem. </p><p>“Why weren’t you being careful?” He says absentmindedly, rummaging around in the freezer. “Not like you to zone out, Soobin-ah. What’s got you so distracted." <em>You. </em> Soobin doesn’t say. Yeonjun is still holding his hand. What was a cut or two? Or an emancipated limb, for that matter. <em> You you you. </em>  </p><p>Yeonjun makes a small noise of displeasure when he can’t find what he’s after. “Why the hell do we have thirty kilograms of tangerines but no fucking <em>ice</em>. I hate it here.”</p><p>“<em>You’re </em> the one who bought them, hyung— ”</p><p>“Do you think citrus on an open wound hurts? Don’t make me find out.”</p><p>Soobin follows his gaze downwards. The pain had more or less subsided but his hand was still <em> very much </em> bleeding, dripping onto the floor now. Ah fuck, that makes his head spin a little— he’s never been very good with the sight of blood. There was an open tab on Taehyun’s laptop that had <em> Train to Busan </em> on pause since last December because he refused to watch it himself and Soobin always got queasy midway through. </p><p>Yeonjun tsks, throwing a look over his shoulder. “What’s taking Huening so long with the— okay, you know <em> what </em>—”</p><p>Soobin is too preoccupied in the moment to register exactly what happens. His brain perceives it in little fits and bursts, like a stop motion film. One second his hand is swinging idly by his side in Yeonjun’s loose grip and the next, Yeonjun is— Yeonjun has it by the wrist, bringing it level with his chest, and then his mouth and then — then, just like that, he’s closing his — plump, perfect — lips around Soobin’s second knuckle. </p><p>His breath hitches audibly in the silence of the kitchen. Yeonjun just... <em> hums</em>, and it’s more apparent now than ever just how different they are in every conceivable way, because Yeonjun isn’t phased at <em> all </em> — cool and disaffected by the fact that he has a finger in his (<em>warm, wet</em>) mouth while Soobin’s heart races like a bullet train, his final oxygen-deprived brain cells engaged in a fierce but pointless civil war to get him to either pass out or die. </p><p><em> It makes sense, it’s a perfectly rational course of action because— because saliva is an analgesic, right, and the cut needed to be sterilized and oh God </em> Soobin wishes he’d never learnt what the inside of Yeonjun’s mouth felt like because he’ll never be able to forget it when he needs to most. </p><p>“Hyung, sorry, I couldn’t find—” Kai rounds the corner, sounding out of breath, and then pauses. Out of them all, he could pull off the closest approximation to a functional poker face — a cheery, benign quirk of lips that could mean anything — but unfortunately for them both, Soobin has known him the longest. </p><p>Yeonjun pulls off with a wet little noise that’s no doubt going to haunt Soobin for days. </p><p>“Nevermind, Kai-yah," he says, "Just remembered I lent it to 402 from downstairs after her new stray scratched her. Name's Mikan, she's a cutie,” he adds, as if this means anything to either of them. Soobin doesn't know <em> any </em> of their neighbours, let alone their pets. How did Yeonjun just immediately get on a supply-sharing basis with everyone? And did he mean the girl or the cat by <em> cutie </em>. </p><p>Yeonjun flicks him between the eyes, “I'll just pop over and get it. Sit tight and <em> don’t </em> do any more damage.”</p><p>Soobin must manage something in the vein of<em> I’ll try </em> or <em> sure thing </em> because Yeonjun nods in affirmation and turns to leave, toeing on a sandal before he’s out the door. </p><p>"Yoohoo~" Kai's voice is right by Soobin's ear, making him jump. His smile is knowing. Soobin hates it. "You okay there, hyung?"</p><p>"I'm <em> so </em> okay. Stellar. Why."</p><p>"Heh, dunno." Kai hops up onto the counter, swinging his legs. "For a second there I felt like I was infringing."</p><p>This is... different. Kai knows. About Yeonjun. And while Soobin knows that Kai knows, they've never<em> talked </em> about it. Just like they don't talk about Taehyun. Was today the day of reckless rule breaking? Rude that no one had given him a head's up.</p><p>“It happens.” Soobin says, clearing his throat. “How’re the, uh, lyrics coming along?”</p><p>Kai snickers, but lets the subject change without comment. “Not bad, actually,” he brightens, “I think I’m getting better! PD-nim said they’re all still vaguely middle-school-y<em>, </em>and, like, that’s fair. It’s good I can see it now, at least, ‘cause it means I’m improving.”</p><p>He tilts his head to the side, turning pink. “Apparently I write a catchy hook. She calls me ‘Hook Fairy’.”</p><p>Oh. Something in Soobin twinges. “That’s <em> great, </em>Huening,” he says anyway.</p><p>“Yeah! Like, I don’t know if it’s album-worthy yet but... maybe a single?” He sounds upbeat and a little hopeful. </p><p>Kai is Soobin's oldest friend in this new life, and just generally one of his favourite people in the whole world. Sure, he was a giant now, and handsome in an ethereal forest-nymph kind of way that turned heads, but Soobin has known him since he was a scrawny kid with protruding knees and a completely different vocal range, self-conscious about how he hadn't yet grown into his nose. He could say with some measure of certainty that he'd played a role in raising Kai, on his back, or however the saying went. So why did this feel <em> so— </em> </p><p>“We <em> just </em> cut an album,” Soobin smiles, but it’s a little plastic around the edges, “You should take it easy, there's no need to rush—”</p><p> </p><p>A blood-curdling shriek echoes through the dorm. Normally, this wouldn't be any cause for concern, but Soobin is very aware of how Kai is right next to him this time and there’s no sound coming from his mouth. Unless he’d been secretly learning ventriloquism, they all ought to be worried.</p><p>There’s frantic scrambling, a crash, and Taehyun emerges from the maknaes’ shared room, white as a sheet.</p><p>"Taehyun!" Kai cries, springing to his best friend's side, at the same time Soobin says, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?” </p><p>"Hyung, I–" His large eyes are round with panic. "I can't find Aengdu."</p><p>It takes Soobin a second. "Your... snake?"</p><p>“He’s missing,” Taehyun runs a hand through his hair, gaze feverishly darting about. "I looked away for a second and..." </p><p>Kai squeezes his arm as Soobin inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. It's probably mean, but he's just glad that's <em> all </em> that's wrong. At least Taehyun is in one piece. At least he’d been stopped from saying something stupid.</p><p>"Calm down, Taehyun. Where did you last see, er, him."</p><p>“I was wiping down the tank and… and put Aengdu on his branch to chill while I went to get fresh water,” Taehyun whispers, “And when I was back he was gone.”</p><p>"<em>WHAT? </em>" It’s unclear what could’ve summoned Beomgyu besides a supernatural instinct for self-preservation, but he's no more than a motion-blur, making quick work of leaping over floor and furniture in his quest to get to the highest surface in the room — which, unfortunately, happened to be Soobin. “Tell me he’s lying, hyung!”</p><p>“It was only for a couple of minutes,” Taehyun moans, “I never thought... I never should’ve... he just disappeared. He could be <em> anywhere </em> right now.”</p><p>"Oh no," says Kai sympathetically, though he joins Beomgyu in clambering onto Soobin anyway. Coward.</p><p>"Oh <em> nooo</em>," echoes Beomgyu, with feeling.</p><p>“Wise,” mutters Soobin, staggering under their combined weight. </p><p>"Hyung, wait, are you bleeding?" Beomgyu asks suddenly, eyes growing wide. "How the fuck—"</p><p>Soobin sighs, "It's nothing, don't worry about it—"</p><p>"Worry? How can I not worry?! Snakes are attracted to the scent of blood!"</p><p>"Those are <em> sharks</em>, dumbass."</p><p>"I was nearly bitten by a shark once," Kai says conversationally, and doesn't elaborate further.</p><p>"Am I a bad caretaker?" Taehyun had his head in his hands now. "Hobak liked my sister better than me for a whole year after we got him."</p><p>Not for the first time that night, Soobin feels a headache coming on. "You're not a bad caretaker, Taehyun-ah," He says, in what he hopes is a reassuring tone of voice, "Anyone would be lucky to have you."</p><p>Kai nods vigorously, with no regard for how this jostles his precarious position on Soobin's back, "That's right! If I was a reptile, I’d—" </p><p>"Why isn’t <em> anyone </em> else bothered by the fact that there's a <em> dangerous monster </em>loose in our living space?!" Beomgyu cries, nails digging into Soobin's neck. That was going to bruise.</p><p>"The damn thing is like six inches long. Max."</p><p>“Small things can be dangerous! Look at Taehyun.”</p><p>“<em>I'm still growing—” </em> Taehyun rounds on Beomgyu, accusatory. "Wait. Was it you, hyung? You've always hated him."</p><p>"<em>Like </em> I would ever go near your hell serpent."</p><p>"I swear, if you did anything to Aengdu, I'll gut you like a—”</p><p>"Hey!" Yeonjun stands in the entryway to the living room, first-aid kit in hand, "There will be <em> no </em> threatening of bodily harm in my kitchen." Bold words from someone who'd offered to stab Soobin less than ten minutes ago, but Soobin's so grateful to see him he doesn't even mind. Taehyun's violent streak wasn't something he wanted to test, especially under stress.</p><p>"<em>Hyung</em>," he says helplessly. Yeonjun takes one look at the scene before him and seems to understand.</p><p>"Beomgyu, Huening, get off Soobinie. Taehyun, your snake, was it? We'll help you find him.”</p><p>"We'll do <em> no such </em> thin—"</p><p>"We <em> will</em>." Yeonjun repeats firmly and alright, it sounded like a pain and a half, but it was also a plan with direction and a clear goal — more than what could be said of anything they’d attempted together that night. Maybe Soobin is a little bit in love with him. So what.</p><p>“That’s right,” Kai says, leaning down to hook his chin on Taehyun’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Taehyun-ah, we won’t rest until he’s back in captivi— um, safe. Promise.” Soobin is on the brink of finally, finally unclenching his teeth when he ominously adds, “I mean, how hard can it be?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Nearly impossible, as it turned out. Soobin sinks into his computer chair just over ninety minutes later, exhausted. This was ridiculous. Flaming mess or not, there were only so many places in the dorm where a tiny snake could possibly hide. It wasn't a <em> big </em> dorm. The apartment might’ve been a little nicer than their last one, but he could still cross the distance from the front door to the kitchen unit in under two strides. The walls were thin — thin enough to be embarrassing — and the quality of evening showers had tanked after their tsundere water heater randomly decided it would no longer function past 9 pm. To say nothing of the neighbours. Soobin slumps forward on the desk, thinking again of Mikan, <em> the cutie</em>. </p><p>A door handle creaks and he leaps to his feet, guiltily pretending to check under the keyboard. “Aaah, looks like he’s not here either, Taehyun—”</p><p>“Relax, it’s just me.” Yeonjun says, closing the door behind him. He tosses something at Soobin. "Here, for you."</p><p>Soobin fumbles the catch, wincing when it makes contact with his now-bandaged palm. He’d dragged Beomgyu aside and gotten him to do it, out of fear for where his mind might wander if Yeonjun touched him again so soon after… fuck. <em> Keep it together, Choi. </em></p><p>He pulls a face as he reaches behind a chair caster for the tangerine. “Hyung, I’m <em> sick </em> of these damn—”</p><p>“They were on sale, okay?” Yeonjun cuts in loudly, shoving laundry of indeterminable status off Soobin’s bed to make room. “And I figured we needed, like, vitamin C and shit for a balanced diet. Just eat it. 'S good for you.” </p><p>Soobin sighs and gets to peeling, sticking his thumbs in the centre and pushing outwards to halve the fruit. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Yeonjun shiver as he works on his own tangerine, shoulders hunched. It was always chilly in this room irrespective of season, because both he and Beomgyu liked to crank the aircon all the way up and then use a dozen blankets for warmth. Not the most environmentally conscious of choices, but once you signed up to sing and dance your youth away, creature comforts became a priority. </p><p>“No luck then?” He asks, popping a slice in his mouth.</p><p>Yeonjun shakes his head. “Checked everywhere. Even the jiggae, incase I’d accidentally, uh, you know.” Soobin shudders. “Huening took Taehyun to buy ice pops a few minutes ago. Poor kid’s still pretty shaken up.”</p><p>Soobin hums, chewing thoughtfully. Yeonjun is bouncing his foot the way he does when he's got something to say. As much as he liked to deny it, his tells are obvious — he’d always been a bad liar, bad at keeping secrets — and over the years, Soobin had gleaned that if he stays quiet for long enough, Yeonjun'll volunteer information of his own accord.</p><p>Sure enough, "Soobin-ah," He says, after a spell of companionable silence. Soobin swivels around in his chair, expectant. "Come here." </p><p>He's confused, but he joins Yeonjun on the bed anyway, mindful of his head as he ducks under the top bunk. Beomgyu had <em> graciously </em>forfeit it to him after Soobin pulled the hyung card, grumbling how three months wasn’t even a fraction of a second in tortoise years, or something equivalent. </p><p>The older boy’s sweater dips when he leans forward, forcing Soobin to look away. And it sucks, because the situation on it’s own isn’t by any means extraordinary. In the most innocent sense of the term, he’s had Yeonjun in his bed several times before (usually when he hijacked it in the morning long after the others had left for school, demanding Soobin wake up or be destroyed), but suddenly it all seems almost uncomfortably intimate — the music, tinny and muffled through the bedroom door, the way Yeonjun shuffles closer in the shadow until they’re side by side on the mattress edge, thighs pressed together. The pale expanse of his neck as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. Simply existing next to him was an exercise in restraint.</p><p>Soobin’s mind swims hazily through clouds of different colours — vibrant orange, white and pink — until Yeonjun wordlessly passes him an earbud, their proximity finally making sense. </p><p>He has his phone in hand, and Soobin catches a glimpse of a grey kitten on the wallpaper before he pulls up a music app. Yeonjun’s wearing the other bud, staring intently at the screen, and it’s funny, because if Soobin had to hazard a guess he’d say he looks almost… nervous.</p><p>The first few bars of something bluesy and warm drift through the speaker shell, Soobin’s eyes already sliding shut. It’s Yeonjun’s voice. It’s Yeonjun who’s singing. He vaguely senses a buzz of restless energy beside him, as the person in question tap-tap-taps his foot to the beat.</p><p>He knows this song. It sounds like — </p><p> </p><p>It sounds like the first time Soobin had ever pulled an allnighter. It sounds like the squeak of well-worn knockoff Adidas on a practice room floor, musty with the scent of teen boy and desperation. Soobin was perhaps the only trainee anyone knew who <em> needed </em> eight hours minimum to function — all the other boys were hardcore, waking up at the asscrack of dawn to <em> grind</em>, crowing how sleep was for the weak. Soobin wasn’t hardcore, he was soft. Soobin wanted to cry. And then Choi Yeonjun had slumped down next to him and said, sounding half embarrassed, half concerned, <em> Hey, uh, dude, you okay? D’you want some of my coffee? You look like you need coffee. </em></p><p>Soobin had gratefully accepted the plastic cup, taking a sip. Which he then promptly spat out.</p><p>“There’s no sugar in this!”</p><p>“Yeah? It’s an Americano.” Yeonjun’d said, thumping his back. He’d then snickered, musing aloud that Soobin must be an idiot or a baby, making his ears burn red-hot with shame, but when he came back from a snack run later that night (or really early next morning — it was hard to tell) it was with an icy convenience store latte for Soobin, three packets of sugar and two extra creams that he made a show of tearing open and mixing in front of their eyes, just to be annoying. </p><p>Then he’d smirked and called Soobin <em> baby </em> again, pinching his cheeks hard before going back to his friends.</p><p>Maybe that was when it had started.</p><p> </p><p>(And a few days later, he’d tapped Soobin on the elbow when they were getting drinks at the vending machine and murmured, “The alcove under the fire escape”, shaking his head when Soobin only looked confused. “There are no cameras there, dummy. Eunjae stashed a futon and some of us sneak out there to nap once ssaem leaves.” He’d scratched the side of his neck, suddenly shy, or pretending to be. “You can use it, if you want.”</p><p>Soobin’s exhausted sixteen-year old brain had defaulted to suspicion first — was Yeonjun trying to lure him into a false sense of security? Get Soobin to rest while he spent that time practicing instead, getting better, stronger, ahead of the curve? </p><p>None of that made any sense. Yeonjun <em> was </em>the curve, standing on a summit the rest of them could barely see. And more importantly, for that to be true, Yeonjun had to consider Soobin some kind of competition — an idea so ludicrous it was laughable. </p><p>He knows better now. Yeonjun, back then, had never once felt threatened enough by the triumphs of other people to think to bring them down. Yeonjun, back then, hadn’t had eyes for anything but his dream. Certainly not Soobin, as a rival or otherwise.) </p><p> </p><p>When the song comes to an end, Soobin blinks open his eyes to Yeonjun staring at him intently, bottom lip red from where he’d been worrying it. Unbelievably, he’s waiting for Soobin’s reaction.</p><p>"It's not done yet." Yeonjun blurts out. "I still need to shop it a bit, the layering's kinda messy before the bridge, but if you ignore—"</p><p>“This is amazing, hyung.” Soobin cuts in, breaking into a genuine smile. Yeonjun’s shoulders relax, like a weight has been lifted off them. “You think so?” He sounds giddy, falling backwards onto the sheets. His blonde hair fans out around him like a crown. </p><p>“Yeah! It’s really, <em> really </em> good. I’m serious.” Soobin swallows thickly at the pleased flush starting to bloom on Yeonjun’s cheeks. He clears his throat, willing for peace. “Is— isn’t this the song you sent me once, when we were trainees?”</p><p>Yeonjun's eyebrows brush his hairline. “You remember that?” Soobin winces inwardly. Could he <em> be </em> more obvious. “But yeah. It came up on shuffle again a while ago and I was like— man, I gotta cover this. This song’s important to me, y’know? Been through a lot of shit with it.”</p><p>Soobin can understand that. “Is this what you've been working on at the studio lately?”</p><p>“Yep. Tokki-nim helped, but I arranged it myself. Went for an R&amp;B vibe? But less drama. What do the kids call it these days, fuckin’, uh,”</p><p>“City Pop?”</p><p>Yeonjun snaps his fingers. “Yeah!” </p><p>“Don’t think that’s right, actually, I was just spitballing. I know <em> fuck all </em>about music genres.”</p><p>“You’re a musician.”</p><p>“<em>You’re </em> a musician.” Soobin laughs, “I just stand there and learn my lines. It’s worked great so far, and I’ve got brainspace for shit that actually matters. Like League.” </p><p>Yeonjun opens his mouth, and then makes a face like he’s just remembered he doesn’t actually care what <em> League </em> is. “Whatever.” He closes his eyes, sounding satisfied. “Point is, you think it’s good.”</p><p>Soobin blinks. <em> Why wouldn’t I</em>, he means to say, but what comes out is, “What does it matter what I think?”</p><p>Yeonjun squints an eye open. “What?”</p><p>“Nothing.” Soobin looks away, suddenly extremely interested in finding the most efficient way to quarter his tangerine, his fingers becoming sticky with juice.</p><p>"What a weird fucking thing to say.” Yeonjun's voice colours with disbelief. "<em> 'Course </em> I care about your opinion. It’s really important to me. Maybe even... the <em> most </em> important.” Alarm bells ring in Soobin’s head, reminiscent of the scheduled fire drills at his old highschool — not entirely unexpected, but still shocking when it happened. Why was Yeonjun <em> so— </em> so <em> much. </em> About <em> everything </em>, all the time. It’s like he just didn’t think about the impact his words could have, whether they could give someone the wrong idea. </p><p>Ah, he can feel that troublesome feeling bubbling up again — the siren song of something like hope. Soobin won't give in to it this time. He's not sixteen anymore. He’s no bitch.</p><p>“Soobin. Soobin-ah."</p><p>Yeonjun kicks his ankle, gently. Soobin lets him. “Look at me.”</p><p>When trapped between a rock and a hard place, the non-leader part of Soobin, the part that isn't responsible for anyone but himself, will always instinctively play dead in hopes that everything decides to leave him alone.<em> That only works on bears, fool</em>, Beomgyu scoffs at the back of his mind (the most ethologically accurate he’s been all day), but Soobin ignores him in favour of shoving the rest of the fruit past his lips, employing the age-old life hack of a full mouth as an evasion tactic. </p><p>It’s the wrong decision, because Yeonjun chooses that moment to twist his fingers in his hoodie strings and <em> yank </em>. Soobin goes down hard, the collision knocking all the air and half-chewed orange pulp out of him.</p><p>“First of all, gross.” Yeonjun says after a beat, his voice coming from somewhere north-east of Soobin. His face is smushed into Yeonjun’s knit sweater. Oh god.</p><p>"You surprised me." Soobin mumbles, wiping drool from the corner of his lips on the soft wool. He'll make it up to Yeonjun by doing his laundry later. Maybe. "Um, sorry, but also, not? What the fuck, hyung.”</p><p>Their legs are well and truly tangled together, hanging over the side of the bed in a useless knot of limbs. Soobin’s trying not to do anything stupid like move or breathe (<em>oh god </em>) when Yeonjun says,</p><p>"You have such a big head, Soobinie." </p><p>And he genuinely doesn't know how to respond to that. Yeonjun is the last person who should be throwing rocks at other people's vanity from his metaphorical mirrored-glass house. Of course, that'd never stopped him before, but something tells Soobin it's not his character that's under attack here. It's true the showbiz valued small faces, but Soobin's just so happened to be proportionate to the rest of him in a way that he understood was pretty fetching, so perhaps it was an unconventional, backhanded compliment? With Yeonjun, you could never tell. </p><p>"Thank you?" He ventures.</p><p>"From always thinking 'bout useless shit." Yeonjun explains. </p><p>Soobin scowls, making an attempt to pull away, but Yeonjun holds him fast with a hand at the back of his head and a hooked leg thrown over his knee. He’d always been absurdly strong, more so now with all the extra workout sessions that came with comeback prep. Soobin distantly vows to hit the gym in earnest starting tomorrow. Maybe.</p><p>This was going to be a problem. Soobin’s certain a few measly layers of fabric aren't enough to mask the way his heart, weakened by proximity, is currently beating out of his ribcage, demanding to be known. Yeonjun is so warm. And he smells <em> incredible </em> , which Soobin <em> knows </em> must be his fevered, biased mind playing tricks because realistically speaking, Yeonjun ought to smell the same as him — sweat, three hours in a cramped kitchen and the lingering spice of gochujang. </p><p>As if all that wasn't enough, he feels his hair being stroked. </p><p>"Soobinie… Soobinie… I know being an edgy enigma is your <em> thing </em> or whatever but..." Yeonjun starts, before trailing off into a noisy huff. Soobin has no idea where this is going. “I just want you to know that. You can talk to me, okay? About anything.” </p><p>His throat doesn’t quite tighten, but his fingers still curl into Yeonjun’s sweater of their own volition, which is almost as bad. “Wow," he says, keeping his tone light and even, "such a reliable hyung.”</p><p>Yeonjun pinches his neck, the spiteful bastard. “I’m serious. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can never quite tell how you feel.”</p><p>Oh, Soobin’s noticed.</p><p>There's quiet for a moment before he starts up again. "Look, it's just. I know it's different with Taehyunnie and Beomgyu and Huening." Another pause. Yeonjun sounds frustrated, but also kind of like he's debating whether or not to cross an unspoken line. It's new. Soobin's never known him to have trouble with lines. He wonders what Yeonjun looks like right now. "You— you tell <em> them </em> stuff." </p><p>The things that Yeonjun could get irrationally hung up on.</p><p>"I— not intentionally?" He says, and then, with a burst of courage, "What is it that you wanna know?"</p><p>Yeonjun makes another noise, low in his throat, that Soobin feels before he hears. "Okay. <em> Okay. </em>To start. What do you think of me?"</p><p>Oh god. <em> To start. </em>How was he supposed to answer this? How could he, possibly. </p><p>But Yeonjun is waiting. He cared so much about how others perceived him it almost hurt. Soobin doesn't, not for the people who don't matter. It'd taken time, but he'd learned how and was happier for it now. Yeonjun is different — and somehow, for him alone, caring managed to be a strength as much as a liability, because he just had a knack for making everything work for him that way.</p><p>"I think…” he begins, feeling the way Yeonjun holds his breath. And this is where Soobin doesn’t say: <em>Your world is so much bigger than mine. </em>Because it’d always been Yeonjun with all the ambition and drive, the grand plans, the promise of greatness, and Soobin was—  Soobin was just happy to be along for the ride, to be honest. Any fraction of his time, any piece of Yeonjun was better than none at all.</p><p>This is where he doesn’t mention how he feels weird and small, when they run into other idols at music shows and ceremonies, them enveloping Yeonjun in an instant, him glowing in the company of friends old and new. Soobin has never made friends easily. Doesn’t have many to spare. </p><p>This is where he leaves out the part where he's almost 90 percent sure that if Choi Soobin were dropped from space, he might just defy science and fall towards Choi Yeonjun rather than the Earth. It couldn’t be helped. That was just how it was.  </p><p>“I think you’re cool.” He says instead. “And you’re good at what you do.” It’s not <em> not </em>the truth.</p><p>Yeonjun exhales, long and slow. “Alright,’ he says, “I’ll take it. Thanks. I am, aren’t I?” </p><p>“Can I go now?” Soobin asks, biting his lip. The warmth of Yeonjun’s skin combined with having his hair stroked was doing something to him, lulling Soobin into a dangerous sense of tranquility. He’d escaped for now, but any longer and he fears he might let something slip for real. Let something <em> real </em> slip.</p><p>“<em>Nooo</em>, spend more time with me,” Yeonjun fake-whines, bringing up his other leg so he has Soobin’s body in a deadlock, “Feels like you never have time for me anymore, I barely see you outside schedules.” </p><p>“I— I’m busy with my night job hyung,” Soobin squeaks. He’s proud of how steady his voice is when he adds, “Destroying noobs online. Yeah, it gets boring after a while, but someone's gotta do it.”</p><p>"Go play with the others if you’re so bored, loser,” Yeonjun is rolling his eyes, he can hear it. </p><p>"They’re busy too.” Soobin says, quietly, “They— they have their own things to worry about." And maybe it's something in his voice that gives him away because all of a sudden Yeonjun's hand stills in his hair. He sighs, caught. That was fast.</p><p>"It's just." Soonin bites his tongue. "Everyone's… <em> doing </em> so much right now."</p><p>Yeonjun sounds confused when he says "I mean, yeah? Only a couple of weeks to comeback."</p><p>"No, not just— I mean, besides that."</p><p>"Not sure I understand, Soobin-ah. If you could do hyung a favour and be less, I don't know, <em> vague— </em>"</p><p>"You know," Soobin cuts in, "You know how Beomgyu and Huening Kai are both composing now? Writing, too. Hyuka's barely eighteen. And Taehyunnie has his whole dance thing going on, he told me last week he wants to learn locking and contemporary and like, like three other styles I can't even name, and, fuck, I don't know, hyung, where does that leave me?"</p><p>Yeonjun has grown uncharacteristically quiet. There's a faint rushing in Soobin's ears that wasn’t there a second ago. "And you're <em> you </em> and you go do all that <em> and </em> make a beautiful song <em> mid- </em>prep. It's a lot."</p><p>He swallows the lump in his throat. "I just— I just feel like I'm not doing enough."</p><p>"Enough?" Yeonjun repeats slowly, blank and disbelieving, "You have the most important role of all, Soobinie. You do the<em> most </em>."</p><p>It's technically the truth, or it ought to be, but the notion sounds far-fetched to him now. Wasn't today proof of the opposite? Yeonjun multitasking and handling crises with ease, Soobin just getting in the way? For the most part, Soobin does a pretty good job of keeping all strains of delicious, spicy inadequacy at bay — repress anything enough and you could pretend it didn't exist, after all — but sometimes it managed to slip through. Like now.</p><p>"Okay, tell me really, honestly—" He sounds irrational even to his own ears, but he can't stop, "What am I even here for. Am I, like, important? To the group? Anyone else could do my job, hyung.”</p><p>He smiles, small and sad, into Yeonjun’s chest, “You guys don't <em> need me. </em>" </p><p>Yeonjun is silent for a second. And another. And then he hits him.</p><p>Or at least, knocks Soobin on the back of his bleached, still-sensitive scalp, hard enough to make him cry out.</p><p>"<em>Bullshit</em>."</p><p>“Hyung, that <em> hurt!” </em></p><p>Yeonjun ignores him. “Is <em> this </em> what you’ve been secretly angsting about for the last three weeks?”</p><p>Soobin stops fidgeting. “What?”</p><p>“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Fucking idiot. Always locked up in your dark-ass room. You think I wouldn’t know that something was off? How long have we known each other, Soobin?” He sounds less angry and more annoyed, like the time <em> The Notebook </em> had been taken off Netflix before he could get around to watching it. Soobin can’t decide between wanting to laugh or cry.</p><p>“Long time,”</p><p>“Yeah. And over something as dumb as this. Only you, Choi Soobin.” </p><p>Soobin feels indignant, “It’s not. Dumb.” It is, a little bit, but he’s not sure it’s Yeonjun’s place to judge.</p><p>Of course, Yeonjun judges anyway, sighing loud enough to drown out the hum of the aircon. "How could you even think that. <em> 'Course </em> we need you, stupid Soobinie. We'd be a hot mess without our wonderful, level-headed, dashing leader. You think Beomgyu and I would last fifteen minutes running ship around here without you?" </p><p>"I was picturing Taehyun in charge," Soobin says, voice small. He wasn't picturing anyone, to be honest.</p><p>"Taehyun who crumbled in five because he lost his pet, that Taehyun?"</p><p>Soobin clicks his tongue, conceding. He’s a little too emotional for it to apply to him now, but he thinks Yeonjun may have a special, potentially profitable talent for annoying people out of any kind of weird funk. He was a man of many skills.</p><p>"You don't <em>need</em> to write or produce or learn new shit to be valid and important, the fuck. Not if you don't want to." Yeonjun is stroking his hair again. It occurs to Soobin that this is the most at home he's felt since moving to the city to become an idol. Funny that it should be in Yeonjun's arms. "And if you do, there's time. There's so much time for that, Soobin-ah."</p><p>His voice is softer now, almost dreamy, "It's always you, you know. When I feel like kicking the kids to the curb for stealing my food, you're there, telling us there's more in the fridge. When Hyuka falls asleep on the floor after a long day, you're there, bringing him another blanket. You’re there, backstage, being calm and steady and perfect when someone messes up. You're in the practice room, recording for point checks even without me asking. At <em> midnight</em>. You're everywhere, all the time. I thought you knew. How have you not noticed? You keep us together. You keep us sane. You—" he stumbles, as if finally getting his bearings, and the next words come out just a tinge more bashful, "You make me laugh." </p><p>Soobin sniffs, blinking very hard. He'd shed tears only once since their debut, and he <em> wasn't </em> about to add to that number now.</p><p>"We need you, Soobin-ah," Yeonjun says again, “I need you.” </p><p>"<em>Hyung– </em> " Soobin starts, trying to get up, but Yeonjun's grip on his hoodie only tightens. He doesn’t know what, exactly, but something tips Soobin off to the idea that maybe this is as embarrassing for Yeonjun as it is for him. They never did this, not the two of them. He and Taehyun, yes, on long walks that Soobin had never known he’d needed; with Beomgyu, sure, in the quiet of their room late at night with the lights turned off; and Kai and he had an understanding that didn’t always require words. But Yeonjun? No, Yeonjun and Soobin never talked about <em> their feelings</em>. Somehow, in all the years they’d known each other, their relationship had evaded all that soft, sticky, soul-baring shit like a rigged claw-machine at an arcade. What they <em> did </em> do was get food and eat together in silence until they could burst. That was how it’d always been, until now.</p><p>There's probably a reason for why he's being held down where he can't see Yeonjun's face.</p><p>The thought is intriguing. Soobin is possessed with the insatiable urge to confirm. He pushes up on his forearms without warning with as much strength as he can muster, lifting his head. Yeonjun’s hand falls to the side, limp.  </p><p>Choi Yeonjun being shocked into silence is a sight to behold. Framed between Soobin’s arms, he stares up at him, eyes blown wide and dark. And<em> oh</em>, belatedly, Soobin understands.</p><p>"Hey," He says, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice (foreign like a song he'd been trying to forget). Yeonjun is flushed down to his neck, down to the secret skin disappearing beneath his sweater, his lips parted, jaw slack. Strangest of all is how he doesn't try to move an inch or, or,<em> say </em> anything, almost like he's waiting (for what? for <em> what</em>) and Soobin realizes that maybe he hadn’t managed to keep his crush as quiet as he thought.</p><p>But maybe, just <em> maybe</em>, he wasn’t completely alone in it either. </p><p>"Hey." Yeonjun says slowly, and then, “You can, if you want.”</p><p>Soobin breathes out through his nose, hard. </p><p>Yeonjun’s lips are a plucked cherry, soft and inviting, impossibly red even without makeup. He’d spent many a shameful late night wondering what it’d feel like to kiss those lips, and now— now he has permission. He can, if he wants. </p><p>He brushes back Yeonjun’s hair, watching the way he leans into the touch. </p><p> </p><p>It isn’t to be, not yet. They both look up, startled, when the door handle rattles loudly, followed by frantic banging and Beomgyu’s muffled voice going, “<em>What the— is this </em> locked? <em> Why the fuck is this locked? </em>” Soobin rolls off Yeonjun, cheeks flaming. His body can't decide between being flustered and being furious and settles for an uncomfortable mixture of the two. Soobin isn’t a violent person by nature — no matter what anyone claims, thank you very much — but if he has to kill a man to get some privacy around here, he just might. </p><p>“What?!” He cries, yanking the door open. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait!”</p><p>Beomgyu lowers his fist, looking surprised by the volume (and from Soobin no less), but his expression quickly remembers itself and realligns into something Soobin knows all too well. It meant nothing good. </p><p>“<em>Heyyy </em> hyung, so,” he begins, “I come bearing, uh, good news and bad news.” That sounded terrifying.</p><p>“The fuck did you do,” Yeonjun says, appearing at Soobin’s elbow. He looked annoyingly put-together, if a little rumpled, though Soobin is somewhat pleased to note that the back of his neck is still pink. </p><p>“<em>I </em> didn’t— well.” Beomgyu instinctively starts to protest, before coming to an abrupt stop. His face splits into a grin. It looks a little manic. “The <em> good news </em> is, I found Taehyun’s demon— creatu— <em> pet!</em>”</p><p>"Wait," Yeonjun sniffs the air. “What’s that smell—?”</p><p>“So, like, I tried to grab a frying pan, you know, to defend myself? But some shit got knocked over in the process and, uh, speaking of, which <em> idiot </em> left the gas on. Anyways—”</p><p>A high pitched beeping cuts through the air. The smoke alarm. “Long story short,” Beomgyu finishes, twiddling his thumbs, “the kitchen is on fire.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Is <em> now </em> a good time to call manager-hyung?” asks Kai later, as they stand around in the gently smoking aftermath, surveying the damage.</p><p>The apartment’s emergency overhead sprinklers had turned on and doused the flames before they got out of hand, but even then, what the fuck. <em> What the fuck</em>. The floor was a mess; the meat Yeonjun had bought, <em> full price</em>, a goner; and Soobin’s onions, a labour of love, not to mention his blood, sweat and tears — literally — lay limp and drenched on the cutting board, unsalvageable. It was impressive how they managed to embody the exact emotion he was currently feeling.  </p><p>“I don’t think so,” Yeonjun says seriously, stroking his chin, “Like, look, <em> barely </em> anything got burnt.”</p><p>“Those scorch marks add character to the room, if I may say so myself,” adds  Beomgyu.</p><p>“You may not.” says Taehyun. He cups Aengdu protectively in his hands, close to his chest. “You were going to do <em> what </em> with the frying pan?”</p><p>Soobin is done. Not medium, not medium-rare. <em>Done.</em> “We have tomorrow morning off, right?" he asks. "Good. I’m going the fuck to bed, and I’m going to sleep for sixteen hours. Don’t wake me even if this place burns down again.”</p><p>He turns around with an air of finality, determined to storm off, and promptly trips over the maknaes’ model of Jamsil stadium, recklessly left in the middle of the room just for unsuspecting victims to fall prey. It figured. Why not add a broken nose to today’s repertoire of fuck-ups? The Republic led the world in plastic surgery, and the company would pay. If all else failed, he knew of a good foundation brand or two that boasted miracle-work.  </p><p>The ground never comes. Soobin chances open an eye to Yeonjun’s arm around his waist, preventing his fall. </p><p>“I think you should sit down, Leader-nim,” he says, gently. “It’s been a long day.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Implausibly, Yeonjun was right. After inspection, there wasn’t that much damage after all. Nothing that a quick call to a prompt cleaning service in the morning wouldn’t fix. Beomgyu had generously offered to foot the bill, under only mild duress.</p><p>“At least the jiggae is safe,” Kai says, checking the pot. “And we’ve got rice. Oh, and eggs! And my carrots that I left on the couch—" He startles when Soobin abruptly backhugs him. "Huh? What's up?"</p><p>"Nothing," Soobin says, squeezing his eyes shut. "Sorry."</p><p>"That's alright, it wasn't <em> your </em> fault, hyung. I mean, if anyone, Beomgyu—" </p><p>"Thanks for peeling the carrots." Soobin mumbles into his hair before letting go. "Love you."</p><p>Kai looks delighted. "Love you too!"</p><p>"How did Aengdu manage to get all the way from your room to the kitchen so fast?" Beomgyu says in awe. His toes tremble a little, but otherwise he manages to mask his terror surprisingly well as Taehyun tries to coax the snake on his apprehensively extended finger. It appeared wonders would never cease. "Takes <em> me </em> a whole five seconds and he's <em> tiny</em>. Barely the length of my—"</p><p>“It’s not a big dorm,” says Soobin. </p><p>"Not everyone heading the same direction gets there at the same time," adds Yeonjun, and alright, subtlety has never been his strength, but Soobin appreciates it anyway. </p><p>They’re on their knees, later, picking wet bits of cabbage off the floor, when Yeonjun throws Soobin a side-along glance, clearing his throat. "Do you—" He pauses, fiddling with a loose thread on his sweater. "Do you, uh, wanna go out and grab something to eat?"</p><p>"We spent three hours making dinner," Soobin says, aghast.</p><p>"We can throw it out?"</p><p>"You <em> hate </em> wasting food."</p><p>"Under ordinary circumstances!” Yeonjun says, getting to his feet. “Probably isn't safe anyway. Yeah, we’ve got the jiggae, but I distinctly remember Huening saying he was putting in green curry powder at some point. It could've been matcha for all we know. I don’t trust that kid." </p><p>Something tips Soobin off to the notion that perhaps a <em> team building exercise </em> wasn’t the only reason Yeonjun had wanted to cook together tonight. Soobin suppresses a smile. It was just like him to discern when someone was feeling down, and yet have no idea how to go about showing he cared like a normal person. They’re so different, Yeonjun and him, but it’s fine. Soobin thinks they work together better this way. <em> Together. </em> It’s a nice word. </p><p>He wipes his hands on his jeans. It's just dinner. They’ve done this hundreds of times before. It’s just <em> dinner</em>, but it feels… bigger, somehow. Bigger than it should be, like the beginning of something. A bend in the road. </p><p>"What, just us?" He dares to ask.</p><p>There's no way of knowing what's around the corner. </p><p>"N—” Yeonjun says and then stops. When he looks him in the eye it’s decisive, firm. “Yeah."</p><p>"It’s late," Soobin says, but they're empty words. He's already mentally listing out all the restaurants in their neighbourhood by distance and price. There was a decent jokbal place around the corner, maybe they were still open. "And the others’ll complain." </p><p>He isn’t prepared for the way Yeonjun coughs and looks away again, cheeks colouring. “I don’t think they will, actually.”</p><p>“They can always order chicken.” Soobin says vaguely, with new wonder. It was starting to dawn on him that perhaps he wasn't the most perceptive of people, after all. A shortcoming, job-wise, but apparently everyone else had him covered. They may never become Michelin star chefs, but they made a good team. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Soobinie, stop dawdling and get over here,” Yeonjun barks from the landing below when Soobin finally emerges at the top of the stairwell (after a frenzied dash for his coat and wallet, Beomgyu snickering the whole while). He descends the steps to see Yeonjun cradling a kitten in the crook of his arm —  the same one from his wallpaper. “Mikan and I are <em> cold</em>. We need you.”</p><p>Somewhere, perhaps not Seoul, but somewhere, shafts of golden sun peek through a cloudline. Soobin smiles, full of hope. </p><p>“Sorry to keep you waiting.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading!! and happy 21st to my best boy yj. the only reason this got as wordy as it did is bc he never shuts up</p><p>this fic now has GORGEOUS <a href="https://twitter.com/nombeomgyu/status/1311042253154955265?s=19">fanart</a>!!</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/yeonbinned/status/1304822382750654465?s=19">twt</a> | shoutout to rey for letting me borrow <a href="https://twitter.com/peachfreezy/status/1274856887926784000?s=20">mikan</a> &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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